Friday, February 26, 2010

Blanked

Temptation to write, clean cut to the core. Which is clearly what this thing is about. But on what, never figured. Things happen, but putting every thing into words is a task I think I want to do with enthusiast. And the only thing I'd say now is that there's a jolt of pain in the back of my head. No, not pain, feels like the skin's been plastered, tampered with million of tiny glasses, residing as if my skin's a cosy little cottage.

By doing this too I realise that to write, music influence me. Literally. Whatever I listen to sets the mood. Eerie tracks for goosebump paragraphs, although really, scary isn't me. Never really will it be. And it's bad enough that depressant tracks pulls me in deeper. Like more words pop out everytime a track like such is played. If it's drug, than barbiturates would have set me in the mood. Please let me make it clear, I am never attracted to pills, liquid, anything of similar sort. Go on snort infront of me, get high, cut loose, I would still sit there in my corner heavily sedated in my own self-enhanced world. Seriously, drugs just aren't seductive to me.

It's as if I feed on dead tracks to keep me pumping, and I dont mean goth. I just mean pumping in every way. Good. Bad, every feeling possible. Love perhaps. Definitely do have different songs for that kind of feeling. Oh well.I guess different songs do produce different vibes.